Chill
by fyd818
Summary: His entire world froze, and for the first time in his life he truly knew the meaning of the word terror.  SheppardWeir, spoilers for “First Strike.”


Disclaimer: I don't own "Stargate: Atlantis." I am in no way trying to make a profit off this story, I am merely writing it and posting for my and other people's enjoyment.

Synopsis: His entire world froze, and for the first time in his life he truly knew the meaning of the word terror. SheppardWeir, spoilers for "First Strike."

Rating: K+

Warnings: A little bit of violence, but nothing terribly graphic, mentions blood

Pairings: John/Elizabeth (Sparky)

Spoilers: Season 3's finale _First Strike_, possible season 4 spoilers

Part: 1/1

Title: _Chill_

Author: fyd818

Author's notes: This is my first strictly John/Elizabeth fic in a long, long time. It's been forever since I've written them, and this fic was calling me. Thank you so much for taking time to check this out, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you!

**Chill**

by

_fyd818_

Perhaps it was a feeling, that nagging itch at the back of his neck he got when something was going to go wrong.

Perhaps it was the unique link he had with Atlantis, her trying to break through his concentration and scream at him that something was wrong.

Or perhaps it was merely the instinct he had, one that responded only when Elizabeth was around. At this point, it hardly mattered which of the three it was that hastened John Sheppard's steps to the Gateroom, and what he knew he'd find there.

The Gateroom had been invaded by white-garbed medical assistants. They were everywhere; blood was everywhere. He could smell fear rampant in the air, mixing with the acrid tang of smoke and – was that sulfur?

He shook his head sharply. He was mixing dreams and memories, surely.

Sheppard pivoted to his right, eyes zeroing in on Keller. The new doc wasn't _awful_, she was nice and good at her job, but he wondered if she would stand up under stress. Now was the time to prove herself.

Keller was working over a stretcher; her slim body hid the face of the figure. Still, somehow, John's gut twisted. He knew.

Now the doc was moving, talking to him. He didn't hear her. Her words couldn't reach him, not past the sudden scream his lips refused to release but that echoed in his mind.

_Elizabeth!_

All he could see was the blood. Everywhere.

His entire world froze, and for the first time in his life he truly knew the meaning of the word _terror_. He was terrified, for she was there, but gone. He was alone.

The window had exploded, and she had been standing right in front of it. Again, he wasn't sure how he'd known that – perhaps Keller had told him and somehow the information had leaked through into his mind.

John couldn't help but think that lying there, surely on the brink of death, she resembled the glass that had broken her. The slightest pressure would shatter her.

Keller was still talking, the slightest undertone of panic in her voice. He couldn't concentrate on her; his eyes kept pulling back to Elizabeth. He reached out his hand toward her, aching to touch her. He wanted her eyes to open, for her to reassure him she was going to be fine.

She wasn't supposed to get hurt. That was _his_ job. And yet here she was. . .

Sheppard yanked his hand back again, clenched it into a fist so he wouldn't try to touch her again, so he wouldn't accidentally break her. He asked the question he so desperately wanted to know the answer to; but was almost too afraid to ask. "Is she going to be okay?" _Please let her be okay. I can't live without her._

It was stupid, and it was trivial. In the middle of this crisis, amid the chaos and the blood and the dying, he was standing there having an epiphany of love and feeling it was too late to do anything about it.

Keller shook her head a little, concern and determination warring in her eyes. "I don't know," she whispered. She moved, taking the med team and Elizabeth's stretcher with her.

John stared after them. It seemed like there was a string tied to his heart, and the other end was attached to Elizabeth. It was pulling him after the med team, though he knew he needed to attend to the very serious situation happening right behind and above him in the Gateroom.

Everything inside him was screaming to follow the med team and not leave her side until he knew she was okay, going to be okay.

But the other side of him, the military side of him, forced him back to the rest of his world – _their _world – Elizabeth's world. She'd shared it with him, she depended on him to take care of it.

No matter how much he wanted to admit it, there was nothing he could do for Elizabeth. He had to depend on Keller and her team for that. There was, however, something he could do about what was going on around him.

It was the hardest thing John had ever done in his life. He tore himself away from staring after Elizabeth and thrust himself into the chaos around him.

But he couldn't shake the chill that clung to his bones like a skintight blanket, nor the words whispering at the back of his mind like a curse.

_And so it begins – the end of the rest of your existence._

He had a duty to fulfill, and he'd do it, no matter what anyone tried to tell him.

But the knowledge would always be there, at the back of the mind.

It would always haunt him. It would never end.

_Elizabeth, I need you. . ._

**- End-**

_Disjointed, I think is the word to describe this scribble. But it slapped me upside the head in Sociology today and I had to write it, and decided to share it with you. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this, and once again, thanks for taking the time to check it out!_


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